To Calm the Raging Storm
by McGonagall'swoman
Summary: MM/HG. Post DH not epilogue compliant . Responsibility has no respect for grief and time marches on; Minerva must rebuild Hogwarts, and herself. M for later chapters
1. Chapter 1

On a wild and lonely Scottish hillside stands the shadow of a woman. The fierce wind whips at her long black hair and at her robes. The rain drenches her, and the dampness of the heather seeps into her boots. She stands motionless, seemingly impervious to the effects of the weather, and tears roll down her face. A flash of lightning and the core-shaking rumble of thunder bring her out of her trance, and with a crack she vanishes.

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Two hundred miles away a young woman sits in a cafe, book in hand, an untouched coffee at her side. To the casual observer she looks like any other patron, but look a little closer and it's clear she carries the weight of the world. Ultimately it's her eyes that give her away. A stunning hazel flecked with gold, but reflecting an agony no girl of 19 should know.


	2. Chapter 2

Once safely inside her cottage Minerva McGonagall removed her outer robes, magically dried them, and ran a bath. It was a routine she had become used to over the last month. The pain she felt at the loss of so many and so much was too immense to be contained within her, but to express it in this cottage, her place of refuge, would have tainted it, made it a place of grief rather than her sanctum. The wild Scottish weather seemed to match her anguish, so she would walk daily, sometimes for miles, but always to the same remote spot and scream, knowing her voice would be lost in the wind. She never shielded herself from the elements, instead savouring the way the cold affected her; numbness and physical pain to distract from the emotional hurt tearing her apart.

As she removed her inner robes, preparing to sink into the hot water she studied the mirror. What looked back was a body ravished by war and time, each playing their part in shaping what she saw before her. Always a slender woman she was now so thin she looked almost cachectic. Her hair fell limply around her, and her once intense emerald green eyes stared flatly. She traced the line of one of many scars, each a reminder of how lucky she was to have survived. But survive was all she did, she wasn't living, merely stumbling from day to day. She sunk her weary body under the water and thought, not for the first time, how easy it would be to keep sinking; to allow the water to fill her lungs and the darkness to consume mind her until she no longer heard the screams, no longer saw the bright flashes of green and was released from the agony of survival. It wasn't, however, a thought Minerva ever entertained for long. She had too much respect for those who died fighting for a future to give hers up in such a cowardly manner and had always felt acutely the debt owed by the survivors of war to those who fell. She got out of the bath, dried herself and plaited her long hair. Minerva moved to her living room, curled up in her favourite chair in front of the fire and summoned the bottle of firewhiskey. Pouring herself a generous measure she contemplated her next move. She had allowed herself a month at the cottage, a month to mourn all that was lost, a month to allow herself to heal, physically at least. Now that the time was up, she knew there was work to be done.

Prior to his death, Dumbledore had named Minerva as his successor and free from the threat of Death Eaters, the school board had fulfilled his wishes and offered her the post. Her initial reaction had been to refuse, thinking it too painful to return. She had reasoned, however, that without the castle, without the students, she may well end her days screaming in the scottish highlands.

It was nearing the end of June when she accepted the job, three months prior to the start of term. July flew by in a flurry of blueprints and construction workers. So much of the old Hogwarts had been known only to Dumbledore that eventually any attempt to rebuild had been abandoned and the plans drawn from scratch. Once Minerva was confident that construction was underway she gave Mundungus strict instructions on how and when to contact her, and even stricter instructions on who else could be given the information. Others might have questioned the decision to leave Mundungus in charge, but not even he was foolish enough to cross Minerva McGonagall.

Now, at the end of August, Hogwart's was built and all that remained was for its headmistress to take her place. Minerva's heart sank at the thought. Such energy went into maintaining her 'firm but fair, unflappable demeanor. Minerva finished her glass of whiskey in one gulp, she had spent enough time hiding, for when she was really honest with herself, that's what she was doing. She would return to Hogwarts the following day, and begin appointing staff, a task that she had been procrastinating until now in a vain attempt to avoid the painful realisation of how many of her colleagues and friends would not be joining her at the castle. The clock chimed and Minerva looked up; Midnight. She knew she should go to bed, face the following day rested, but if she was to be allowed only one more night to wallow, she was going to make the most of it. Pouring herself another drink, she raised her glass in honour of those who gave their lives, and drank deeply.


	3. Chapter 3

A huge thank-you to those who submitted reviews. I know this is a little slow, I promise it does pick up, and lighten up!

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Hermione sat staring at her book, not really seeing it. The cafe staff had got used the the quiet, bushy-haired girl who came in daily to sit at the table by the window and buy coffee she didn't drink, and cake she never ate. The waitress had once joked with her that she might prefer the solitude of the library, but when Hermione smiled a rueful smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, she realised her presence wasn't an invitation to conversation.

After the final battle Hermione had essentially excused herself from the wizarding world. She travelled to Australia in the hope of finding her parents, and had succeeded. The magic she had used to convince them of their new identity had, however, been so powerful she couldn't reverse it. The spell was meant to end on seeing their daughter. Hermione remembered sadly the moment it became clear it wasn't going to. She rang the doorbell of their house and when 'Wendell and Monica' came to the door she had beamed at them, so relieved to find them alive. A brief flicker of recognition crossed their faces, before they asked the young lady how they might help her. Hermione, too shocked to do anything else, mumbled something about needing directions to a hotel and fled as soon as she had her answer. Monica tutted "She's run in entirely the wrong direction". Wendell didn't reply, continuing to stare at the spot where Hermione had stood. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen the girl somewhere before.

Since returning to the UK Hermione found herself adrift between the two worlds she inhabited. She had spent most of her formative years in Hogwarts, and thus had no muggle qualifications. In fact her only remaining tie to the muggle world had been her parents. The wizarding world, however, was almost as much of a stranger. Hermione was no longer a student but not having sat her N.E.W.T.s, nor was she a fully qualified witch. Her plans of going to university were now unrealistic; but until her 6th year, she had never considered anything else for her future, and during the last year she hadn't considered her future at all. So it was that Hermione found herself working in a muggle bar six nights a week. The pay covered the rent on her flat, and the job itself provided her with a distraction.

It had taken only a few days for Hermione to realise that to spend time on her own meant that there was nothing to block out the pain, and nothing to stop her mind dwelling on darker thoughts. In her moments of deepest melancholy Hermione wondered if this pain was worse than what she would have experienced had Voldemort killed her parents, and then cursed herself for such selfishness. However spending time with others proved equally difficult. She couldn't participate in conversation when all she wanted to do was scream and rage against the injustice. So she found something between being alone and being with someone. Sex. After her shifts, Hermione would invariably find herself in the bed of one of her patrons. Being with someone physically kept the unwanted thoughts at bay while avoiding the expectation to make inane conversation, or worse, good conversation. Discussions of all that she used to love; Italian renaissance art, literature and music all left her feeling hollow, merely serving as a reminder of those she used to be able to discuss it with. Where before she could read each new scientific development, muggle and wizarding, with awe and excitement, now she saw only the relentless march time, the world spinning on its axis as though nothing had happened. To the world nothing had, but to Hermione nothing would ever be the same again.

From the kitchen, the noise of plates crashing to the floor shook Hermione out of her reverie. She left enough money to cover her bill and stepped out into the throngs of shoppers.

On arriving home she found a disgruntled Hedwig waiting for her. Apologising and offering him some water she untied the scroll of parchment from his leg, poured herself a glass of wine and sat down to read.

_Hermione,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I am organising a small dinner next Friday for all the members of the order and it would make me very happy if you would join us. I know the boys would like to catch up. _

_Hoping to see you soon,_

_Love,_

_Molly. x_

Hermione read and re-read the letter. She didn't relish the thought of dinner at the burrow. Molly would be fussing over her and everyone would be asking about her plans, but she knew she would have to face them some time, and it would be nice to see Harry and Ron. They had both gone straight into auror training and they rarely got the chance to meet. She quickly sent her response to Molly, changed into her uniform and downing her glass of wine left for work.


End file.
